


A Shared Proclivity

by Aproclivity



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, F/M, Impact Play, PWP, Spanking, always practice aftercare kids, and so is alex, consensual D/S, daddy dom, established loving relationship, inappropriate uses of a recording booth, richard strand is horny on main, stockings and garter belts, strand has a thing for alex's voice you know, strand has good taste, this is shameless smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 15:43:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19771348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aproclivity/pseuds/Aproclivity
Summary: Shameless PWP involving a consensual D/s relationship with Alex and Strand, including Daddy!Kink, Dom!Richard, stockings, spankings and cute aftercare.





	A Shared Proclivity

“Say it again, Alex.” His voice is a silken order, as hard as Richard’s hands are twisted into her hair but with the same sort of care. He’s drawing her up to look at him (her face anyway) so that brown can peer up at the blue in his eyes from where she’s on her knees in front of him. The space is small, and the hour is late and they’ve already needed to remove the chair that Alex is normally seated in when she records the voice overs for the show. 

This is a forbidden thing and they both know it. It’s the reason that Alex and Richard are at the studio in the middle of the night (not that that’s a particularly new thing. It’s been happening for ages) but the why is far more important than the where is in this moment. And far more dangerous if they get caught. 

Terry would judge her so hard. Paul would think she’d lost her mind. Nic would know she’s lost any semblance of professionalism that she’d had left. But of course from where she’s kneeling, Alex can still see the recording levels on what was happening. She watches the meters move before Richard’s hand cups her chin more firmly, drawing her attention back to him again, as if it could ever really leave him when the two of them were this close. 

He’s still wearing his suit of course, because for Richard Strand, suits are his armor. Not only are they his armor in that way but right now they are his plausible deniability. Alex herself is at least slightly dressed, if one uses the term in a charitable way anyway. Her skirt is short. Very short and it’s probably perhaps the shortest thing that Alex has ever purchased since she’s been out of college. It’s tiny and flairs out over her thighs. That is when it’s not pushed up to her waist and more closely associated with being a belt like it is at the moment. It’s just a band now, and her knees are spread so that he can see her, and the wetness that peeks out there. Her body is framed by the matching garters and stockings in a way that makes her feel like an object de art. She loves it. Above the skirt and garters, Alex is definitely wearing a button up shirt (his button up shirt) that would cover the skirt if it weren’t drawn up so he could see the expensive black and sheer of the bra that he’d purchased for her, oh display as well. 

Of course it hides the matching lace strap of the collar he’d given her but beggars can’t be choosers. 

“Alex,” he scolds her lightly, his index finger trailing across the line of her lipstick. His thumb draws across the fullness of the bottom, parting it so that his thumb can enter it, letting her suck on it for a moment while he speaks. “I thought you were going to be a good girl for me, my Alex. I thought you were going to be my naughty little slut where I could have a recording of it.” There’s a huskiness in his tone as she traces her tongue across the tip of his thumb, reminding him of how very skilled she was with it. “Are you going to be my good girl, Alex?”

Richard draws his thumb away with a pop and a smirk to go with it, and there’s a wickedly matched one on Alex’s face to go along with it. “Yes _Daddy._ ” The word is a purr that makes his breath hitch and causes him to groan. Wandering fingertips move from her face down to her throat, brushing along there with the slightest pressure so that he can feel the words she speaks in her lovely vocal cords. “I’ll be a good little slut for you, Daddy.” 

“Good girl, my Alex.” He breathes the words out, giving her a long and slow smile. “You’re such a good girl.” With lingering fingertips, he moves his hand along the line of her neck, brushing under the hem of the collar of the shirt that Alex had kept buttoned in order to give her some of that plausible deniability. Right now, Richard doesn’t believe in that, so instead he just casually undoes the button, revealing the antique lace of the collar below it. It’s subtle and in fashion now.

But they both know it’s more than that. 

Of course, Richard’s smirk becomes brighter as he moves his fingers to her shoulders. “But you made me wait, didn’t you, Alex? You made me wait and ask for it twice. You know I don’t like to be kept waiting, my Alex.”

“Yes, Daddy. I’m sorry.” Her words may have been but Alex’s eyes definitely were not sorry in the slightest. Nor was the grin on her face. It had taken Richard some talking to get Alex into doing this here rather than at his father's house, but it seemed that she’d left any self recriminations at the door. Later, when she’s supposed to be trying to sleep there may be a line of panic about not clearing it out of the memory banks but for right now, this is too exciting to worry about. 

“Are you, my Alex?” Leaning over her with a loom, Richard’s voice is in her ear (but enough that the voice would be carried to the mic) “Are you _really_?” Moving lower on her, his breath grazes across her temple, heat and a slight wetness from his mouth even as he doesn’t actually touch her with it. No, it’s a promise of his mouth ghosting across the line of her face, following her cheekbone and jawline, her ear. 

Letting out a shivering moan, Alex just starts to close her eyes before there is a sharp jerk of her hair, his fist closed and close to her scalp. “No, Alex. You will watch. You will keep your eyes open and on me. Do you understand, mine?”

Keeping her voice contrite and her eyes locked with his, “yes Daddy.” 

“I think you are as obsessed with me punishing you tonight as you normally are with demons.” Strand’s voice is more normal, slipping into the lecturing mode that he knows that Alex loves. It’s another level of torture as he slowly unwinds his hand from her hair. “Maybe I should really punish you my Alex. Just leave you here on your knees wet and wanting me. Taking the recording with me and letting you just wait…”

“No Daddy! Please! I’ll be good, I promise. Please Daddy.” Alex is begging in a way that she never would allow anyone to hear on the show. She’s begging in a way that few people have heard before, other than Richard himself. Amalia of course, a professor in grad school and that was it. Trusting someone with this wasn’t something that she did easily. 

It was, despite what Strand’s opinion about them may be: something of a miracle that he’d discovered this particular proclivity of hers. 

“Stand up. Now.” His face and his voice have nothing away, not a single inclination of whether or not he was intent on fulfilling his threat as Alex scrambles to her feet with more uncertainty than she normally would given the additional height (and stick-like heel) of the expensive shoes that fasten around her ankles. It’s not fluid yet, but she would learn. They were both certain of that. Without touching her, Strand just moves his hand down to the burnished buckle of his belt. 

The leather on the bespoke belt cost more than Alex’s rent for the month, and he makes a show of sliding the metal clasp out of the leather hole and then dragging it through the loops on his trousers. Each movement is slow and deliberate, drawn out and Alex just traces her tongue over her lips as she tries not to whimper. When it’s finally loose, Richard doubles the leather over, holding it in his fist before stroking her cheek with the supple softness. 

“Turn around and bend over.” His words are in contrast to it, harsh and with a possessive growl in them. “Put your hands on the soundboard and face the mic.” 

There’s no argument there as Alex turns, but her hands are placed gingerly so she doesn’t turn anything off. With another growl, Strand touches her, tracing his fingers over the cheeks of her ass, following parallel to where cheek meets thigh but not actually touching her core. She whimpers again, and just arches towards his touch. “Please Daddy.” The words are a groan as she looks at him in the reflection in the sound proof mirror. 

“No Alex.” It’s calm and reasonable and may as well have been in response to her asking if Richard wanted a cup of tea when he walked into her office. It’s definitely not the voice of a man touching her like she belongs to him (she does) and who’s cock is straining against his trousers. “You haven’t earned it yet.”

Whispering softly, Alex just nods quickly before Strand speaks again. “Count them. If you miss any I’ll start again, mine.” So, so, so benign his voice is and Alex shivers in anticipation, watching as he draws the belt back. She braces for the sting of it on her ass, but she’s wrong. 

Instead the leather hits against the back of her thighs and she cries out. “Oh god, one.”

The second one is immediate, a crimson kiss against white skin directly below where the first Mark was blooming. “Two.”

“Good girl, My Alex. Such a fucking good girl.” While he’s speaking, the third stroke lands against her core and Alex cries out louder, feeling her legs tremble. 

“Three,” she manages with a choked gasp. Strand moves his hand against her slit, sliding his fingers along the length of it, his thumb pressing against her clit. 

“You’re so fucking wet for Daddy, my little slut. You love this don’t you. My good little slut.” He presses again and she cries out once more before the belt comes up and strikes the top of her ass to the left, forming more of a frame. 

“Daddy.” It’s a gasp, and she almost, almost forgets to add, “four. Daddy please.”

Five and six come in succession, sharp and quick, and she cries the numbers out before she adds, “yes daddy, I love it.”

“Who does this belong too, Alex? Whose cunt is this.” His fingers plunge inside of her, two up to the knuckle and curling as he does it. 

“Yours, Daddy. It’s your cunt. I’m your little slut.” His breath hisses, mixing with the snap of the leather when he hits her again. “Seven.”

“God you’re such a good little slut, my Alex. Such a good little slut for daddy.” His breath is lower, sharper with the desire he can no longer keep out of his hand tone as he moves his fingers in and out of her again; moving deeper each time strands wrist moves. The belt is loose at Strand’s side when she whimpers and grinds against those fingers, her own hands white against the edge of the soundboard. 

Withdrawing his fingers, his eyes meet the darkened with desire ones of her own in the reflection, and his hand moves to her open and panting mouth. Roughly, he slides them into it, to his knuckles with a roughed, “suck for daddy.”

instantly her lips close against his fingers, her tongue sliding over her wetness there. Eagerly and quickly she sucks him deeply, watching as his eyes half-close with it. “Baby girl.” He croons the words, “daddy’s good girl.” Friction is needed and he can’t help but to grind against her now, his fingers still roughly fucking Alex’s mouth as he does it. The sounds of the belt and its buckle hitting the floor echo around her, mixing with the sucking she knows that the mic is picking up. 

When Strand pulls away from her, it’s all at once, drawing back his body and his fingers with a resounding pop before he just watches her shivering in the window. As if he’s making a decision, his hand moves to the button on the trousers and he undoes it quickly with jerky movements that relay the need in him. Richard doesn’t get farther than undoing his zipper before taking himself in hand. His fist pumps over his length, taking in the red of her skin, the way she wants. The way she wants him. 

And then he waits, his hand still curling around himself as Strand meets her eyes with equal parts expectation and demand. Richard made himself clear in these situations earlier, so he doesn’t need to say what he wants from her now. No, it’s implicit and Alex shivers before she traces her tongue across her lips again. 

Begging. He wants her to beg and Alex wants to beg him. She can see the sounds of them picked up in the recording levels, low and soft and certain, the tone matching the storytelling tone that she sometimes got on their show. Richard loves that tone, and they both know it—this isn’t the only time she’s used it to great effect. Of course this time, however she knows it’s going to live in infamy with her. Because whatever else Richard will have this recording. 

For good or for ill. (Probably a little of both.)

“Please, Daddy. Please. I need you to fuck me. Please Daddy, please fill up your cunt your big cock. Please Daddy your little slut needs you. Your Alex needs your big cock, Richard.” With his other hand wrapping around her throat and giving a little squeeze, not enough so that she can’t breathe but enough so that her words stop. 

Leaning over her, he presses his mouth to the mass of her hair, hovering close to her ear and also closer to the mic when he asks her flat out, with no pet names or anything to hide who and what they are. “Whose are you, Alex Reagan? Who do you belong to?”

“I’m yours, Richard Strand. Just yours.”

“How long have you been mine for? How long will you belong to me?”

“Since I walked into your office. Until I die. Please, Daddy. Please Richard. Please.” The words are met with a sharp sound of an open handed slap against her so far unscathed cheek and Richard doesn’t need the belt to make a mark: instead she wears his hand print there, a flushing brand of heat. “Eight.” The word is ground against her teeth as she tries to keep herself from writhing against him. It’s too much almost. All of it. 

“Good girl, Alex.” His palm smooths over the heated spot, rubbing it to extend the sensation of the burn. “You remembered to count for me, Alex.” His voice is a low praise and she preens to it without even thinking about it. She can’t help it, and Richard knows it. He follows his words with a kiss against her spine, dragging his teeth down between her shoulder blades. 

Yelping as he walks back and forth over that line of pain and pleasure, Alex can’t help the rolling writhe of her hips, the keening plea from her mouth. “Please Daddy.” Her eyes are meeting him in the mirror and Strand can’t stop himself. He doesn’t want to stop himself anymore. 

Instead he guides himself inside of Alex, ready and wet cunt, moving deeply and quickly, thrusting himself until he reached her core. Buried in her liquid heat, Strand just moans her name loudly in her ear, letting both of them adjust for a second before he slaps the outside of her thigh. “Don’t you dare stop talking, Alex.”

If there’s one thing that Alex Reagan is good at it’s talking even if the process becomes rapidly more difficult when he’s inside of her and she can feel him twitching against her core and his hand moves to rub her clit. “Richard’” she groans and in response to the pinch against her; she adjusts her tone: “”Daddy. Daddy please fuck me. I need it. I’m your little slut daddy. I need your cock Daddy, please. Please. I need you to fuck me so hard.”

Strand groans in the same low tone and he starts to rub her clit again as he begins to move inside of her. Her begging continues as his other hand moves to rest around her throat so he can feel her begging all the way through him. Strand dearly loves it when Alex begs him for anything but especially when she begs for him like this. It had taken them some time to get to this point (and longer to convince her to do this but it was all worth it. Next time the two of them were separated at least he’d have this to keep him… occupied.)

But whatever famous Strand control as an immovable object is lost in the force of Alex being unstoppable especially when she’s moving to match him stroke for stroke, rolling her hips and begging oh so sweetly. He gives into her, as he so often does whatever plans of making her wait may have been in the front of Richard’s mind. Instead of the controlled and measured thrusts he’d wanted to fuck her with, instead it becomes abandon, jerked movements of his hips and thighs as he moves into her again and again. 

Strand in his passion is normally a quiet man, and he’s tried to be so with Alex, especially now as the recording runs, the levels fluctuating with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh and the cried begging of Alex against his huffed groans. “Alex.” He hisses as his teeth meet the meat of her shoulder. “Alex,” his hands scratch against her skin, “Alex!” He shouts as he moves even faster feeling her tighten around him. 

And then there’s the final word, forming hands to shove them over the cliffs into their climax. “Mine.” 

It’s met with a sharp answered cry: “yours.” Strand just collapses against her as Alex’s body goes limp and the afterglow allows her to ignore the fact that the edge of the soundboard is pressing against her skin hard enough to leave a black stripe tomorrow to go with all of the other bruises. She closes her eyes for a moment before Richard plants a gently kiss against her shoulder. 

There’s no movement for a while while their breathing and the racing of their hearts come back down, other than Richard sliding his fingers gently through Alex’s hair and pressing light kisses to her shoulder again. It’s a soft moment, and a softer movement before he slowly draws himself off of her. Reaching for the tissues on the stand next to them, he just uses it quickly before tucking himself away, the movements rigid and automatic as he looks down at the woman before him as she starts to stir. In the reflection of the window, Strand just gives her a smile before he follows the movement of her shoulder down to her arm. It’s a light touch, as tender as his earlier ones were harsh, as grounding as the other’s were meant to have Alex take flight. 

“Such a good girl.” His voice is low and soft, barely carrying to the sensitive mic, but loud enough so that Alex can still feel them in her ears. Slowly, she turns her head on a loose neck, giving him a smile over her shoulder before Strand leans and presses his lips to her temple. That too, is loving and soft, before he pulls away from her with regret on his face. But there is a time and place for some things, and Richard Strand never forgets how to take care of his toys. Especially precious toys like the woman who has his come dripping down her leg and onto her expensive stockings. 

He’d come prepared for this, until he can get her home, and it still takes a bit of resolve for him to step away from her and towards his briefcase, emptied of the normal files and bits of equipment. That was the persona of Dr. Strand that he didn’t need tonight--no tonight he needed the authority (wanted or needed, it was a fine like when it came to the Strand aire of control) but none of the usual trappings. Tonight, his briefcase held a first aid case, a plastic parcel of bath wipes until he could get her home to a tub, a thin blanket and a bottle of water. Yes, he knows she’d prefer coffee, but she doesn’t sleep enough as it was. 

Yes, that still falls into the trappings and trimmings of his duty of care to her. 

Crackling the plastic seal of the bottle and handing it to her, Richard ripped into the package of wipes and moved one against her, following the line of wetness over her thighs, and taking care to be sure that each abraison was cleansed of it while he chides her gently: “Drink, Alex.” 

“You know,” there’s still a breathy tone in her voice, the amusement clouding it as she watches him. “Nic would kill me if he caught me in here drinking this like this.” 

“If Nic caught us in here like this, my Alex,” Richard follows, after a huffy laugh, taking another cloth from the plastic, “I expect your drinking water from a bottle over the soundboard would be the least of our worries.”

Alex colored beautifully at that, and he just gives her the wry Dr. Strand smile in response. “Are you cold?” He asks her softly, in counter to whatever she might say about this being his idea, and they both knew it. 

“I’m okay, thank you.” She smiles at him, and he can see the love shining out from it when he adds the cloths to the trash bin, and he just steps back to look at the marks on her thighs and ass. Nothing that would be too bad tomorrow, but he pulls out the antibacterial ointment just in case. His touch is gentle as he rubs it into the wounds, taking care to alternate with touching spaces that he’d not used so roughly. It’s not desire that’s laced through his long pianist fingers--but it definitely is care. Care and affection. 

“Finish your water, Alex.” It’s an order but a soft one as Richard’s fingers move to the next spot on her skin. She drains about half of it before she offers it back to him. There’s no argument as he takes it from her and pulls a long sip of it, watching as Alex’s fingers move across the keyboard that controls the recording devices. The recording booth doesn’t fall within his purview but it does well within Alex’s and he knows that she’s covering their tracks well, even if her fingers are a bit boneless while she does it. 

Still, she checks and rechecks the equipment to make sure that the only copy made is in the usb that she’s connected to it, and when she’s satisfied Alex just turns to Strand with a broad smile. “Satisfied, my love?” The question comes with a sparkle in her doe eyes as she steps into the ring of his personal space. The action is not one that’s new, not by any means but Richard still marvels at it nonetheless. It’s still odd how the stars have aligned for them to have become this. 

“Nearly.” He smiles down at Alex, the thin wry one that he knows that she loves before Alex moves to kiss him (a feat that’s definitely easier given the height of the heels she’s wearing) soundly. Richard just returns it, holding her face between his palms. “There, that’s better.” 

In response Alex just laughs before she steps back and opens the door, grabbing her red jacket to cover what she’s wearing, and throwing her purse over her shoulder before she offers him her hand: “Come on, my love. Let’s go home.” 

Richard just takes his hand in her own, and gives it a squeeze: not for the first time, he admits to himself that Seattle (and Alex) have become his home now.


End file.
